Ritual
by CMCRD
Summary: Severus, the Dark Lord said, his voice hissing. I want you to take her, mold her. The Call is so close. Aid it along. Show her the path. She is dirty, but she is brilliant.


_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. No Severus, no Hermione, I don't own the story of Harry Potter. They all belong to JK Rowling, being the brilliant, evil woman that she is. And she won't share Severus. But I have an idea. I know how I'll steal him. Muahahahahahahahaha!_

_And the "Call of the Blood" isn't mine either. Wendynat is nice enough to let me play with her dollies. There's a bunch of stuff that I've borrowed from her story _Cloak of Courage._ You know what? Anyone who reads this story is ORDERED to go read her story. You won't regret it. She's under my favorite authors. Any of her stories are good, but I think _Cloak _is my favorite of hers. So I owe her this story, my life, and a cookie. _

_I think she'll like the cookie the best. _

_Yes, I've asked permission by the way. She's aware of this story, although she may not ever read it._

_Not HBP compliant._

* * *

Chapter 1

Professor Severus Snape smelled the darkness. Every time he swept into the classroom, his robes billowing behind him and his face sneering at his students, he could smell it. It wasn't strong enough to track without getting too close to avoid raising suspicions y et, but it was obvious. One of his students was dabbling in the dark arts.

His eyes traveled over Draco Malfoy suspiciously. The boy was the most likely candidate if he were being truthful with himself. With a family like the one he was born into, Severus was surprised the darkness didn't seep from the boy like the scent of dung from a baby. But up until this year, his current Gryffindor/Slytherin seventh-year class had been clean, pure. Maybe the occasional wistful thought toward the dark arts, but nothing that penetrated Severus's nostrils like this moment.

"Potter!" he snapped, needing an outlet from the frustration that had suddenly filled his body. The boy jumped. Without responding, Potter raised his eyes to Severus's defiantly. _Could he...?_ Severus got close to the boy, peering over his shoulder at his cauldron. "Disgraceful." He gestured toward the green sludge in the cauldron and waved his hand. The mess disappeared. "I suppose you'll just have to take a zero for the day, now won't you, Potter?" He gave the boy a smirk and reached over to mark the paper sitting in front of him with a zero, something he normally didn't do. While he bent over the boy, he allowed himself to test the boy out.

He was clean.

Severus would have sighed in relief had he been a lesser man. As he wasn't, he simply allowed the emotion to flood through his veins. Potter turning to the Dark Arts would be a happy day indeed for the Dark Lord, and mark the end of the lifestyle Severus risked his life so often to preserve. The world was better off with Potter dying at the hands of the Dark Lord rather than the two of them joining together, or, possibly even worse, competing for the spot of Dark Lord. The poor people of the Wizarding World could not take that.

But it was strong around him, Severus realized. He looked at the five people closest to the boy. Weasley. He snorted. Weasley couldn't know which way to _hold _a Dark Arts book, let alone how to study it. The boy had no drive, and the chances of him turning to the darkness were slim to none, if only out of laziness.

Malfoy. Possibly the most likely possibility, but Severus felt a ball of dread curl in his stomach at the thought. He had so much potential, so much drive. If he chose to, he could take the Light far. It would be very dangerous to lose him. Maybe not as detrimental as Potter, but simply because Potter had the bloody prophecy dangling on his fate.

Miss Parkinson. Another possibility, Severus supposed, but the girl was much more interested in manipulating others to do her dirty work for her, rather than doing it herself. She was a ball of feminine willies, and she knew exactly how to use them to her advantage in order to get what she wants. He doubted that she would bother studying the Dark Arts. He figured that, during the final battle, she would be too busy seducing some poor senseless boy to bother fight on either side.

Zambini. Zambini was a puzzle, even to Severus. Not even the Dark Lord himself was sure where his loyalties lay, and that made the boy all the more dangerous. He was a wildcard, he was, and Severus didn't know how to influence him.

And finally, although he had seated her away as he possibly could from Potter in a hope that he could get some peace during his potions lessons, Granger was the final one in the range. If it was Granger, Severus realized, the Darkness was all too strong. She sat far enough away that, should it be her, the Call was close. If it was Granger, Severus also realized, he would tear her limb from bloody limb.

Severus continued sweeping through the room to avoid looking suspicious, checking cauldrons and making scathing comments. To him, it honestly appeared that _no one _could make a good potion in this class.

He had spent far too long pondering over Potter and the group surrounding him, thanks to Dumbledore's brilliant idea that it would be good to seat the houses _closer together_ in his class, and the class was over before he'd had time to search out which one of the five students it was. He gave them all a cold look as they packed up and hurried for the door. This was something Dumbledore needed to know.

Severus sat in his chambers, pouring over essays but not really focusing on them. He was disappointed in himself for allowing himself to _hope_ that he could make it through a year without sensing the darkness on one of his students. He'd prayed to any deity that may be listening that this class, Potter's class, would all be smart enough to stay out of the war. Or at least swear to the light. Dabbling in the darkness did no good. The Dark Arts took more than they gave, despite the fact that most turned to them to fill a void, or to get revenge.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up, letting the essays fall to the floor in a satisfying mess that he felt vaguely represented the information in them. No one actually tried anymore, barring a few students. Ironically, most of the students barred from that group, were students that he currently feared for their virtue.

He stepped over the essays, hearing some rip and knowing that he was getting them filthy. He would have to fix them later, but he could care less at the moment, and he was sure that the students were not waiting on edge for their essays to get back to their desks, graded and commented on, attempting to figure out where they could improve in their studies. He was lucky that half of them even bother to do the homework. Holding out for enthusiasm would only be setting himself up for a serious fall.

He slipped on his outer robes and pulled his door open. It was honestly a bit early for him to begin rounds, as curfew wasn't for another ten minutes, but he could enjoy himself by making sure that the students had the proper _inspiration_ to be tucked into their beds by the time the clock hit. It was one of the few things that made his life bearable, thus the reason that Albus had not, as of yet, fired him for harassing the students the way he did. Albus had no reason to keep him other than the information that he brought, and both Albus and Severus knew that that would get done either way. Severus felt a deep rooted shame in his former actions. It wasn't enough to make him a _good _man. No, there was nothing on the face of the earth strong enough to do that. But it was enough to keep him loyal to Albus.

Sweeping down the hallways, he snapped at two students having a tender moment. In fact, they were only holding hands and saying goodnight, but it was enough to irritate Severus. So much that they both received detention for their inappropriate behavior. They scurried their separate ways, one toward the Ravenclaw tower and the other into the portrait hole that housed the Hufflepuff common room.

It was one of his favorite pastimes, being the sadistic bastard that he was. He viewed the hourglasses which the gems representing house points sat as a stress ball. The more he got angry, the more he squeezed the life out of them. It was a worthwhile hobby, he had to admit. It instilled the fear of god, (or at least Snape) into the students, and prepared them for the world out there.

It was all Snape could to keep himself from killing one of them, he admitted. He hated the feeling of weakness that came from taking the whispered insults of the students without spilling their blood. It was hard for him. There were students that he **longed **to watch go still and limp beneath his fingers. If there was one thing he hated more than weakness, however, it was guilt and shame. More specifically, the guilt and shame that went along with killing a student that did nothing to him beyond disrespect that was not, despite all of his wishes, an offense punishable with death.

Oh, but he could wish. And he could pretend. And he could fantasize. It was all that kept the instincts at bay, all that kept him from acting out these fantasies, trying them out on Potter, or even Granger and Weasley. Oh, to silence them once and for all...

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as the thirst for blood grew in his chest. As the Final Battle drew closer, as the meetings with the Dark Lord grew darker, bloodier, the Call grew stronger, harder to fight. He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight the lust, the instinct.

He balled his fists into the many layers his robes and teaching clothes provided, closing his eyes and clearing his mind completely. To a man unfamiliar with the Call, occulmency would seem pointless and a futile activity. But Severus knew it to be the only way to banish the thoughts, the only way to ignore the instinct. And even the effectiveness of that was slowly diminishing and dying. It was all he could do not to kill.

He took a breath in and opened his eyes.

"Professor!" Filch said, not a foot away from his face. "I thought I'd be the one to tell ya. There's strange goings on at the end of the hallway."

Severus recoiled at the proximity of the dirty caretaker. At his feet, the cat meowed loudly, her eyes studying Severus as if sensing his inner turmoil. She licked her lips at him, flicking her tail and walking away, howling for Filch to follow. Severus composed himself and stopped Filch from leaving. "What sort of strange?" He questioned, his voice low and dangerous.

"I didn't stay to study it. Peeves flew by with a water balloon. I thought I'd stop him and inform you." The strange eyes of the caretaker glowed in the dark as he held up a water balloon triumphantly.

"Of course." Without thanking the man, he brushed past him and toward the end of the hallway, briefly allowing himself to wonder what, exactly, the man considered 'strange'. After all, he was a squib. It could simply be a stupid student studying for their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. But something in his gut said differently.

As Severus approached, he felt the darkness pulsing through the air, the same darkness that he'd felt in the past few month during his seventh year potions. It was heavily guarded, he could feel. Countless potions and spells protected the spot in which the stupid student had chosen to practice their newfound Art. The wards were fresh, activated less than a minute ago. Filch's stumbling across them must have alerted the practitioner to the danger they faced. Severus allowed himself a moment to soak up the pulsating vibes before sweeping down the hallway.

The potions were strong, Severus had to admit that much. And the spells weren't far behind in skill. If he didn't know better, Severus would swear that this could not be a student, that someone had broken into Hogwarts and was practicing dark rituals within its sanctuary. He slowly and carefully felt out each one, feeling the darkness hit him in waves with each lifted layer.

With two weaker spells remaining, and one strong potion, Severus could hear a deep, husky voice calling out to the very Darkest of spirits. _Did the fool not realize just how truly deep that ritual is? _His mouth went dry when his path leading to the student was clear. A red aura surrounded them like a mist, lifting them off the ground by several centimeters. They held a knife above their head, which was covered by a cloth and thrown back enough to reveal a low-cut, square-neck top resting on top of a chest that was decidedly female. He growled low in his throat, reaching forward.

His hand fell to his side at the words coming from the female hovering in front of him, cloaked in the unworldly light and clearly thrown in the middle of a trance.

_Per cruor , ego inveet obscurum in. Scelero in meus manuum quod rabies in mens , Audio phasmatis quod recipero vestri Dico._

The voice held two tones to it, suggesting that this was not the first dark ritual of the night. Her voice could clearly be heard beneath a deeper, raspier tone. He closed his eyes in unwitting respect for the ritual being performed, then forced them open again when the words ceased. The knife was swiftly brought down onto the wrist of the caster, and then brought back up above her head, still in a eerily steady hand.

_EGO beatus is vitualamen pro obscurum , quod scisco is fortuno mihi rursus._

Severus froze, startled. _I bless this sacrifice for the darkness, and ask it to bless me in return. _No. He took a step back, suddenly recognizing the ritual with a start. If she was truly performing this ritual, she had a bloody lump of a body laying at her feet. And if she wasn't, if, as Severus suspected, she was simply _practicing,_ then she was about to set off a lust for blood that would not be satisfied until she killed the first person she saw.

_Vomica lux lucis , bonus quod universitas , quod uplift tantum qui es dignus quod validus._

His window of opportunity was closing quickly. There was one line of the ritual left. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. The air around him was too thick, like a gel that would not permit even the slightest bit of motion. He pushed forward, his motions sluggish beyond all comprehension. It was almost as if his body was working against his mind, fighting against his urge to stop her. _No..._

_EGO sudo per Dico ut EGO sum dignus , ut EGO sum validus , quod ut per is vomica_

He was inches away from her, and all she had left was six words. Six words separating her from light and dark. He reached out, thankfully faster than his previous movements allowed, and grabbed her wrist. From this angle, _Oh Merlin_. He could see every one of her features, each and every curl on her head beneath the ceremonial robe.

"Miss Granger, drop damned knife."


End file.
